


The Shadows

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been keeping secrets from Dean, and is seeing through the cracks at his time in hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place early season 7  
> Warnings for abuse/suggested rape/non-con

Sam was keeping secrets, that much was for certain. He just didn't want Dean to worry. His older brother already had enough on his mind, what with the Leviathans on the loose and losing Cas. He didn't want to add something else into the mix of Dean's stresses. Dean was already downing whiskey as soon as he woke up every morning in their motel room, whichever one they decided to call home for the next week or so.  
But the truth was, he was having trouble hiding those secrets. He was having hallucinations, that much was obvious. But to Sam, they were more than that. Ever since this hypothetical wall in his mind came crumbling down with the opening of the gates of purgatory, Sam had merged with the parts of himself that he wished he could dismiss forever. In fact, he thought he had, when he got pulled out of the cage and had absolutely no recollection of what came to pass during his time in hell. But now was different. He remembered things. Mostly everything. But always in fragments, probably because in hell he was often in and out of consciousness.  
His hallucinations, if that's what they were, began with random spurts of torment, as if someone was taunting or teasing him, dangling his life on a string in front of his eyes. And just as he was hanging on to his last breath of life, he would wake out of it, or Dean would shake him or call his name. The firm yet compassionate "Sammy!" that often escaped his brothers lips would always bring Sam back to reality. And he would return, in a sweat, confused and terrified. And always with a deep, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was certain was dread. Because he knew the worst was yet to come.  
And, as he had anticipated, within a few days, the object of all his fears, the man, the thing, the most evil creature in all existence, appeared to him in the form of a man he inhabited all those months ago. Sam wasn't quite sure about the poor guy's story, but that didn't matter anymore. All he knew was that face was forever engraved into the deepest depths of his mind and soul. Whether he meant to or not, and he didn't, his whole body quaked and his insides curdled every time he saw him. He was Lucifer, and for a whole year he and Sam were stuck in the same cage in the depths of hell. Michael was there too, but most of the time he remained unseen, or hidden. He never did anything or said anything about the things Lucifer did to Sam. He just watched, and occasionally joined in on the tormenting. In the cage, Sam was helpless. After all, he was just a human, up against two angels. Two vicious, powerful angels. He didn't stand a chance.  
At first, Sam fought. He fought with all of the strength in him. Still, it was never enough.  
Lucifer was relentless. At first, he made it clear that what he wanted was to break Sam and make him regret the decision to stop the apocalypse and trap the angels in the pit. But after a few months (to Sam it felt more like years), Lucifer's intentions skewed. He had no purpose for doing things to Sam, other than the sheer thrill it gave him to see Sam writhing in pain.  
His hallucinations came every day. Lucifer was comparable to a constant knife stabbing at his side, whispering profane things in his ear. Lucifer was taking over his mind, and Sam was having a hard time deciphering what was reality and what was just in his head.  
"Sam... oh little Sammy..." Lucifer now beckoned him, his voice as treacherous as a snake's. Sam's surroundings morphed from the walls of the Sunset Inn motel to a burning fiery hole, red and blazing. Around him, on low rusted metal tables, were various tools and medical instruments. Sam looked up to find his arms outstretched and bound above him, his wrists encompassed in thick cuffs. He had been wearing a shirt just moments earlier but now it was gone, his bare chest heaving in the heat. The chains to the cuffs seemed to attach to nothing, no wall, no ceiling... Sam was impossibly trapped in this nightmare. It was all so familiar. Sam was back in hell with the devil.  
He saw Lucifer slithering towards him, in the form of the man he took with the sand-colored hair and piercing blue eyes. "Hello, Sammy," he said.  
"Lucifer..." Sam spat the word. Just when he thought he was safe, he was brought back down. It was all so real. He could feel the heat of the metal against his flesh. When he tried to wriggle free of his binds, he found he was utterly helpless. He looked down and saw that his ankles were also bound in the same hot metal cuffs and chains that his wrists were. Still, he struggled. After all, he had been up there with Dean and Bobby and he had had time to regain some of his mental strength.  
"Long time no... Spooning." Lucifer smirked. "Miss me? I know you did..."  
Sam tried as hard as he could to convince himself that this wasn't real, this was all just in his head, just like Dean had told him. But without access the the cut on his hand, he couldn't make himself snap out of it the way he had before. He was paralyzed in this state.  
Lucifer came closer. He stood within inches of his face, just staring into his eyes. Sam refused to look at him.  
"I know what you missed... You missed the feeling of me all up inside you..." Lucifer eyed Sam's lips, then his gaze trickled down over Sam's bare chest.  
Sam twisted his hands, trying to break free. He could feel Lucifer's hot breath against his flesh. Lucifer was really close now. Sam turned away. Though, he wasn't sure whether it was out of fear or hatred. Most likely both.  
"I want you to look at me, Sam." Lucifer's statements were always like orders.  
Still, Sam refused to look into the eyes of the devil.  
"I said ---" Lucifer gripped Sam's chin tightly in between his fingers and turned it towards him. "LOOK AT ME!"  
Sam let out a sharp moan as Lucifer's fingers dug into his flesh. He was suddenly staring straight back into those familiar, menacing blue eyes.  
"That's more like it..." Lucifer smirked. "I want to see the look in your eyes when I plunge into you once more... You know, like I used to... When you were my little bitch... You remember, don't you, Sammy?"  
Sam groaned and struggled some more. "No," he lied. Truth was, he remembered every minute, every little detail of that torturous time he spent with Lucifer in the pit.  
"Well, then... Guess I'm just going to have to jog your memory..." Lucifer stepped back.  
Sam was breathing rapidly now, his heart speeding up and fluttering around with immense dread. He shook his head in objection, as if that would somehow change Lucifer's mind. But he couldn't help it. Once he saw the shadows emerging from behind Lucifer, shooting up and coiling around and speeding towards him, he turned to desperation.  
"Please," Sam managed to let out.  
Lucifer laughed. It seemed to echo throughout every corner of Sam's mind, throbbing in his ears. "I love it when you beg," he said.  
Sam knew what was coming next. The shadows appeared around him like thick long arms or perhaps the tentacles of an immense dark sea creature, circling him and whizzing past his face over and over.  
"No, please..." He knew begging for mercy from the devil was pointless, but still, he couldn't help himself. It was a last resort, and quite frankly, it was as though he wasn't in control of himself anymore. As though it was his body speaking, because it knew it would not be able to handle the pain that was about to ensue.  
Sam saw one of the shadows whipping closer and closer and he braced himself. He didn't have any choice anymore. The torture that he was about to endure was inevitable.  
The shadow, like a slithering snake, coiled up Sam's leg and penetrated his body. Sam felt it inside him immediately, tearing into him like a sharp knife, as though it were cutting up all of his organs. He let out a sickening cry, loud and shrill. Lucifer somehow controlled the shadows, they were his minions.  
The shadows, or shadow (Lucifer chose to only play with one at the moment) penetrated Sam, and seemed to be going in and out in one slow repetitive motion. Sam could feel the thing up inside him. These things were Lucifer's preferred choice of plaything because they weren't a physical entity yet they felt like one. Therefore, they would enter through Sam's rear and, unlike anything that might naturally be shoved up there, had the ability to continue up into his stomach and up higher until they reached his lungs, then they would crawl up his throat and would eventually escape through his mouth. This whole process usually took an excruciating ten minutes and by the end Sam was always left practically convulsing. Sam would imagine it felt worse than being possessed and exorcized.  
Right now, lucifer was taking it easy on him. Still, that wasn't saying much.  
Sam's moans and screams were clearly giving great pleasure to Lucifer. He just watched him with a wide smirk on his face.  
"Had enough yet, Sammy? Cause we can keep playing, if you want."  
Sam couldn't even speak. The only thing leaving his mouth were broken gasps and coarse and shaky moans.  
Suddenly he seemed to tilt backwards, and then the room slightly shifted and he was on a table, his arms now at his sides, chained down. His legs were up. He squirmed and struggled some more before eyeing Lucifer, who was walking closer to him. "It's time for your favorite part, Sammy."  
"No..."  
Suddenly Sam felt a rush of searing pain, growing and throbbing in the pit of his stomach. The scream he let out was almost as deafening as the ringing Sam was hearing in his ears. The shadow went higher and higher up, until it was almost impossible for him to breathe. He gasped for air, nails digging into the steel table beneath him. Sam's eyes leaked as the shadow made its way into his esophagus, stealing what little air he was holding on to. The color drained from his face. Just as Sam was about to pass out, he heard Lucifer laughing and then calling his name.  
"Sammy... Sammy.... SAMMY!" It started as a menacing taunt and then morphed into the familiar raspy voice of his brother. Suddenly all of his air was back and he took it in with one long draw, starting to recognize Dean's fair features, his face contorted with concern. "Sammy, you with me?!"  
"Dean..."  
Dean shook Sam by the shoulders, still trying to snap him out of it. Sam still appeared to be in a loopy state, and all of his muscles were sore. He just flopped around in his brothers arms. Dean grabbed hold of Sam's face and gently shook him.  
"Sam, come on, damnit..." Dean held his brother, Sam's head falling gently at Dean's neck, his cheek pressed against Dean's t-shirt.  
Dean stroked his brother's tousled, damp hair and tried to bite back his aggravation. He was fed up of this crap. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Death had put up the wall in Sam's mind and for a while he was perfectly fine. It was Cas who had done this to Sam. He broke the wall and within seconds Sam had gone Cuckoo's Nest, just like that. Dean could never forgive Cas for what he did. He betrayed them. And now Sam was in mental and physical pain, and it was clearly relentless.

~  
Dean and Bobby watched Sam's dormant figure, exhausted and drenched in sweat. His hair stuck to his face, which was lying flat against the side of the bed. He was on his stomach and one arm hung sloppily over the edge.

They spoke in hushed tones. They didn't want to wake him. They knew it was hard enough for Sam to get a good night's sleep.

"Bobby, what are we 'gonna do?" Dean asked, trying hard to keep his voice steady. He couldn't stand seeing his little brother this way. He was supposed to protect him. Dean brought his hands up to his face and buried himself in them.

"Well, first, we're 'gonna calm the hell down."

Dean groaned, his voice muffled.

"Dean, look at me. Hey," Bobby said, his voice coarse and stern.

Reluctantly, Dean looked at Bobby. "I can't do this anymore, Bobby," he said. "I can't watch him go through any more of this crap. I just can't."

"Well guess what sunshine, you're just 'gonna have to suck it up, because Sam ain't 'gonna get any better with us just sitting here twiddling our thumbs. He needs you, Dean. Now do you want to help your brother or not? Cause I'm not 'gonna sit here and watch you two tear yourselves apart."

Dean always admired Bobby for his stern determination. If the boys were a mess, they could always count on Bobby to tidy them up again. "Ok," he said.

But over the next few days, Dean found himself a helpless wreck, especially when Bobby suggested they take Sam to an infirmary where he would no longer be dangerous to himself. Sammy had only gotten worse. His screams, previously only occurring in the dark depths of the night, now happened in plain day, and he would shout things like "shut up!" or "leave me alone!" to no one in particular. He also started physically harming himself, but seemed to be completely unaware any of it was happening. He would wake up with scratches all over his body and when Dean tried to confront him about them he would just stare or look off into the distance, or maybe at some nonexistent being behind Dean.

And then he stopped sleeping altogether. Dean knew there was no other choice. If they wanted what was best for Sammy, they would get him help. So they checked him into a hospital, and the doctors decided the best bet was to place him in the psychiatric ward. Dean was reluctant at first. His brother was not crazy. He was just going through crap that no one should ever have to go through. He didn't expect anyone to understand, but it was paining him in immeasurable ways to see this happening to his little brother. At least he had Bobby telling him they would figure things out.


End file.
